"I mean that if you'll write a letter home, I'll mail it."
She shook her head: the straw crumpled in her fingers.
"There's no use of that," she said.
"Of course there is. After all, your father's your father, you see, and I don't know a father that wouldn't help his daughter out of the sort of mess you've got into."
"I know one," said Violet, grimly.
"Not till you try him, you don't."
"Yes, I do. If you was in my place would your father——"
"Which father?" laughed Beekman. "My one won't have anything to do with me because I live with the other, and the other won't have anything to do with me because I'm the son of his predecessor.—You take my advice and write home."
"I'd never get an answer."
She spoke in an even tone, but there was no mistaking the tragedy that underlay it.